Throwing Socks at the Ceiling Fan

Before I was an editor, before I worked in any form of news, before I had a master's degree, before I had any credentials other than a bachelor's degree and a post-baccalaureate certification, I taught tenth-grade English.

I think every college graduate should be required to teach one year, or at least student teach one semester at a public school.

There'd be a lot less debate about funding public schools or how hard our teachers work or even how different kids are today from how they were "back then."

source

So I taught tenth grade English, and at the end of that year, my students had to take the writing portion of the LEAP exam, Louisiana's standardized testing required for graduation.

Needless to say we focused on writing heavily, and needless to say many of them were extremely nervous about being required to write on a random topic in order to graduate. Or to write. Period.

Our mantra was "writing is a craft," and I explained that meant it was something you got better at the more you did it. I'd have them write something almost every day, pass it to a neighbor for "grading," and then go back and correct it before turning it in to me for the final grade.

It was a primitive version of critique partners, and I didn't even know it.

When I started writing books, I didn't know what I wanted to write. I'd get ideas for stories that I liked, or I'd get a character in my head, and I'd chase him or her wherever s/he led, whether it was back in time or outer space or just around the block.

My first book wasn't very polished, but I think my latest shows the mantra works. You do improve with practice, getting feedback, learning from mistakes.

When he was in high school, my older brother liked lying on his bed, taking off the socks he was wearing, and then throwing them at the ceiling fan while it was spinning.

Sometimes I'd lie on the bed beside him and watch, and we'd laugh about how far they flew or dodge the falling dust bunnies, depending on how long it'd been.

source

My writing path feels that way at times. Five completed MSs later, and I still don't know which genre I prefer to write or which my readers prefer.

I'm not sure it matters as long as I just keep doing it, learning from my mistakes, improving.

I can't seem to find my point today, I'm sorry. If you've made it this far, I guess it's just keep swimming. And if you're throwing socks at the ceiling fan, remember to dodge the dust bunnies. (Yes?)

Oh, and every one of my students passed the writing portion of the LEAP. I was so proud of them. Still am.

Have a great week, reader- and writer-friends! <3

Blogfest Special: Deja Vu

My good friends DL, Lydia, Katie, and Nicole are hosting this fun fest in which we dig up old posts that didn't get much "play" or that are favorites or whatnot.

This was hard! And as a result, I might sprinkle in some recycled posts in the upcoming weeks.

But anyway, without further ado, a fun rerun and looking forward to seeing what I've missed!

Cups of Literary Tea, July 2010

I'm not much of a tea drinker. I wish I were, because it sounds so refined and elegant.

I mentioned in a previous post that my first boss when I was an editor at LSU was from England, and she observed a strict tea time every day, complete with cookies (biscuits). She taught me so many little niceties.

Anyway, so I've been thinking about books and genre and what appeals to different readers and what doesn't. Of course, I was also thinking about agents...

The other night I looked at JRM and me sitting up in bed reading. He was holding a block of wood entitled TRUMAN. I was clutching my shiny copy of Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side. Being naturally curious, I leaned over to him.

LTM: What's Truman doing?
JRM: They're making the atomic bomb.
LTM: Sounds.... interesting. (Yik!)
JRM: What do you think it says about humanity that we've had the bomb for 60 years and it hasn't been used.
LTM: We love our children.

Personally, that sort of reading doesn't relax me. I start wondering if I'm getting credit for the course. But to JRM it's fascinating.

I boarded this train of thought because I needed a critique partner. (One of those non-relative, or husband or friend types.)

And I was pondering if it's really necessary for him/her to prefer the genre I write in. I think it is, but could I be wrong?

I recently "met" a fellow blogger who's writing fantasy books. This very imaginative (and good!) writer suggested I read his WIP, but I had to come clean--I think I'd be a terrible helper with fantasy fiction. (The true kind, I mean. The kind JRM devours.)

I felt bad. But I think my answer was correct. I've tried many times to read hard-core fantasy, and I always follow the same pattern: my mind starts to wander and I get lost (you really have to pay attention to that stuff). Then I'm faced with having to start over, and instead I just put the book down and grab a good-ole escapist YA romance.

(Not genre romance, mind you. I get the itch if I can feel the formula in a book I'm reading.)

But maybe that wasn't the right answer. Maybe having a critique partner who's not a big fan of the genre in which I write would make him/her more likely to catch problems...

I don't know.

Last weekend we hosted two of JRM's old law school buddies who are serious fantasy fans. I asked them what it is about the genre that appeals to them. Is it the descriptions? The worlds? The literary devices (e.g., time travel, quests, magic). They couldn't really say.

I don't think anybody can. That's like saying why you prefer chocolate over vanilla.

At the very least I like knowing there's a genre for everyone.

Mine's more the love story-anything genre, although I have to admit an aversion to creatures. LOTR was not my bag, baby. Sorry. So the love-story-anything-without-creatures genre.

JRM: There are no creatures in The Dragonriders of Pern.
LTM: Do the dragonriders fall in love?

That's all for today, kids. I'm actually on the road headed back home, so let's all thank Flower the cat for today's post.

My genre's anything I can bite.

Have a great weekend! And I actually am out of town til Sunday, so I'll be late making the rounds. But I'm coming! Til Monday~ <3

Delightful Smells & Dead Stuff

Most everyone's doing the A-Z challenge this month. I'm not, but my post today happens to coincide with the letter D... It's D-day in more ways than one around here, but more on that later.

I got many different reactions to my assertion that boys stink--on both sides. As always, I'm ready to be corrected. Heck on this matter, I want to be corrected. All my male characters smell delightful.

And when I read Crazy Writer Girl's (hilarious) post, I didn't realize I might be writing unrealistic contemporary fiction by asserting my male love interests were fresh as daffodils.

I'm a MOG (mother of girls), and JRM is thoughtful enough to hang his sweaty clothes on the side porch after exercising. So we're not subjected to stinky boys.

The good news, is I was not all wet! Here's what I've learned from my MOB (mother of boy) commenters:

• Not all boys smell! It's more a function of their age and level of physical activity.
• The boy stink seems to max out around late-elementary school (around eleven). And Truth: our little ladies can hold their own in the stink-department after a hard day's playing.
• Once the prospect of love enters the picture, our fellas (and girls) magically transform into frequent bathers who often drown themselves in perfumes and deodorants as well. (*cough*)

Now I'm thinking I need to get my sniffer to the store to expand my sensory vocabulary. So here's to heavenly scented teens (of the non-paranormal variety).

And my apologies for asserting they might smell otherwise. (I was misled!)

As for Dead Stuff, my good bleep Jen ("Unedited" link) sent her query letter through Matt's Q3E recently (link), and there was a mini-discussion in the comments over whether she should use the label Chick-lit, as that genre has been pronounced "dead."

Saying your book is a "rom-com" was also named the Kiss of Death.

I started thinking about other categories that were Dead until something new gave them the old Dr.-Frankenstein-electric-shock treatment.

Things like paranormal before Twilight, slasher films before Scream, even Westerns before the Cohen brothers remade True Grit.

So... 
-Should we just keep swimming in the face of assertions that our genre is DEAD? 
-Should we all start working on our YA dystopians immediately? 
-What if someone is starting a paranormal romance (which is on the verge of Death again)? ... irony.

Have a great week, reader-friends! Til Thursday~ <3